The Life
by xxVegetasTorturistxx
Summary: It's a story about Gojyo's life. Goes through quite a few stages, so I hope it's good....... tell me if it is, okay? And yeah, there might be some..... action..... ahem..... so.... mature readers only!
1. Chapter 1

My given name is Sha Gojyo. I am twenty-two years old and my birthday is November 9th. I have crimson hair and eyes, for reasons I cannot have power over. I am six feet tall and weigh around 165 pounds. But truthfully, none of that is even important. What is important is a person's history. It's what makes them into who they are. Where they lived, how they lived, who they were raised by, what happened in their life, what they saw, what they heard, what they were told, what they learned, what they said, what they touched… all of that matters more than anything of who a person is in the present.

There's diversity in people because of their pasts. It isn't because we all have our own tastes about things, no, in my opinion; I see it as what you were raised around. Your environment is a much more sufficient reason of why you like things you like, and why you dislike things you dislike. Say a person is raised to believe that sex is an act shared by two people who love each other and who know they'll never leave each other, an act of love. They would most likely grow up and live a happy, satisfying, loving life with someone who loves them for whom they are and not what they are. And then you have the person who is raised to believe that sex is something you can throw at anyone who will accept. That person will most likely grow into a perverted person who tries it with everyone, and rarely succeeds because he doesn't get to know the person first. He would most likely lead a very lonesome and unhappy life.

Such things make me think about just how different my friends and I are from each other. We have practically nothing in common except horrific pasts. We all have our nightmares, but all of us dread of burdening our only friends with our troubles when we know they have their own. But next to that, and the fact that we're all men, we have nothing related between us.

Hakkai for example likes to read, is very calm and well mannered and he can cook. Sanzo is very on edge all the time, is calm when he's not screaming in someone's face, and is a Buddhist cleric. Goku couldn't cook to save someone's life, doesn't read, and is very noisy and irritating.

And then you have me. What I am, who I am, and what I'm like are not questions that I, myself, can answer. That's for other people to say. But to compare myself to the other three, I don't read either, but only because I'm not really so great at it, I'm usually calm, unless in a battle of words with Goku, I can be civil but I can also be the rudest bastard you'll ever know. But I can cook, well, sort of. I'm nothing compared to Hakkai, but I can manage.

All of this babbling isn't what I'm here for though. I'm here to tell you a little story about myself. It isn't the happiest story you'll ever hear but it's important to me. If you don't like mature content, you don't want to hear this story, so please, if you're going to criticize me over my past, just don't read any further than this chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

I was born in a little house in the middle of the forest. A house my father built for himself and my mother, so they wouldn't be found out. Sadly, the day came where demons overtook the house and killed my mother, well, so I hear. I don't really believe she's dead. Something inside of me tells me she's still alive. My father took me and ran, but what he found to assist him was much worse than death. I would've rather been eaten from the inside out by one of those grimy youkai.

He found a woman, who has no name to me, who became my step-mother. She had a son, Jein, who became my stepbrother. The first thing I remember of my step-mother is her looking me in the eyes, tears running down her face, bawling actually, telling me how revolting I was. How useless. Telling me no one would ever want me, and no one ever did want me, so I may as well have been dead.

Many times she held knives to my throat, but always passed out before she could do anything. Why she passed out I never understood, but I thanked whatever was making it happen every night. She was a youkai, just to fill you all in. I will eternally hate youkai, and it's mostly her fault. Those damn fingernails… claws… weapons. That is the part of youkai's that terrifies me most. I get a glimpse of the hand of a demon and I can only remember my mother's nails and how they felt against the soft flesh of my cheek. If you ever see a picture of me, you'll notice the two scars on my left cheek from the confrontation.

One night, things got a little out of control. She was meaner, harsher, colder, more upset, let down… she was out of her mind. Raising a knife high over me, she threatened to force it down into my chest; backed against a wall I had no protection. I closed my eyes and begged that the presence that made her fall would soon come, but it didn't. Nothing was happening and the blade came flying down toward me, but seconds before I expected the blow, my stepbrother, Jein, stabbed her.

When I opened my eyes all I saw was his body standing before me, and my stepmother lying lifeless on the floor. Through the eyes of a normal eight year old, this may have been enough to die from shock, but as you probably know, I was no everyday child. I had seen too many of the nights where she was passed out on the floor to even think of her as dead. But this time was different, there was blood on the floor and my brother was holding a dripping sword.

I had never seen my brother shed tears. Never. In fact, he was always the one who told me not to cry, that men didn't cry. I believed him for the greatest time. That night was different in that aspect as well though. I crawled around him slowly, toward her. His eyes were shut, but he was trembling. When he opened them I felt a sudden wave of guilt sweep over me. Bloodshot and damp, yet nearly bleeding from being so dried out. He never spoke a word to me that night.

The next morning, I woke up in his bed, I didn't know why or how I got there. He was next to me, so I shook him awake. He didn't want to get up and smacked me away. I lay on my side for the longest time before I started to think, 'why did he do that?' So many questions were flowing through my head. _Why had he killed her? What did I matter? Why did he save me_? And the blame was back. I am the reason that he killed his own mother.


	3. Chapter 3

My teen years weren't exactly filled with joy either, I'll have you know. To fill you in, when I was fourteen I ran into a house in the middle of the woods that I thought was abandoned, only to find an old couple inside. The woman screamed and I started running, and her husband shot at me until I was out of his sight. You can only imagine my self-confidence.

After that, I stayed in the woods for about a week before a man came along and asked me where I came from. I told him that I had just gotten lost and didn't need any help, but he insisted on me staying with him. At first I denied him, but when a girl about my age came running up behind him and called him dad, my mind had changed. I covered it up pretty well with the question of, 'are you sure I wouldn't be any trouble?' and of course he said no. I took up his offer shortly afterwards.

When we got to the house he made me feel right at home, he had a spare bed that he insisted I stayed in, which came in handy because I didn't want to sleep on the floor, I had bad memories with couches, and I didn't want to suggest I sleep with his daughter.

The first night was good; Aleisa, his daughter, and me stayed up all-night and just talked about anything and everything. I don't think I ever laughed until that night. When I told her that, she smiled and said that I had a cute laugh, which must've made me blush because she giggled and kissed my cheek. She was beautiful and I found myself feeling strange when I got hard. _No._ I told myself. _This isn't the kind of girl you just have sex with._

She asked me about my family, and I suddenly busted up in tears. She felt so terrible for asking me, I told her not to, she didn't know about me. I started telling her about how my father and mother were of different species, and I was a child of taboo because of their forbidden relationship, and how my mother was supposedly killed for it, how my stepmother hated me and tried to kill me, and how I'm the reason my stepbrother killed his own mother. All this while, I had tears running down my face, my hands were clutching my hair, and I could barely breathe.

She was crying by the time I was finished and gave me the tightest hug I had ever experienced, perhaps the only hug I had ever experienced at the time. I clung to her, not wanting her to let go, and she didn't either. She held me tight until I was finally willing to let go of her.

She was the only person who had ever bothered to wipe away my tears. I loved her. I knew I did. We sat there for the longest time, her just watching me, me just trying to calm down. The silence was almost heaven for me. Usually silence was horror, but this silence, when I knew someone who cared about me was there, was bliss.

At one point, I must've started to cry again, because she began holding me, rocking me back and forth. It calmed me down, but I didn't know what I was begin calmed down for. I was almost asleep, my face against her chest, but then she tilted my head up and kissed me. I was shocked and pulled away, and she looked at me in the most hurt way I could ever imagine. She apologized, but I shook my head and kissed her this time, lowering her to the floor.

I remember it so vividly; as most people do I'm sure. Just like it was yesterday, everything is clear. Most of my memories are foggy and vague, but this one is most… brilliant.


	4. Chapter 4

She ran her hands over my back and through my hair. God, how wonderful it felt to me. I didn't have any idea what I was doing, but instinct told me to slide my hand up her shirt, and I did so. I reached up until I found her bra, which I slipped under as well. It was all done so slow and with so much caution, teasing her was the last thing I had ever thought would work. But it did. She sighed, and for some reason, so did I. She had removed my shirt and had slipped one hand down the front of my pants and the other behind my neck to get better control of our kiss.

That night, as wonderful as it was, was also a night that made me feel like a fool. I didn't know what I was doing at all, and she knew everything. Only later did I find that all women seem to be like that.

She flipped me onto my back and grinded her hips against mine. I moaned roughly, but quietly, I didn't want to wake her father. She slipped my pants off of me and began massaging my groin and lower regions. Having never felt the sensation before I arched my back and groaned, biting my lower lip. When I looked back down toward her, she had stopped and was now standing before me. I rested myself on my elbows and watched her with hungry eyes.

What she did next I will always find erotic and arousing, though no other woman has ever down it for me. She removed her clothes and straddled me a little above my hips. She rubbed herself on me and moaned slightly, as I did. Then she slipped her fingers inside of her and began playing, my eyes widened as she took hold of my hand and guided my fingers into her, removing hers. My voice and breath caught in my throat and I slowly teased her, watching her face for any reaction. I hit a small bump and her threw her head back and gasped.

I smirked and pressed harder on it. She moaned and wailed with pleasure and I realized that I could play this game too. I pulled my fingers out of her and sucked her juices off of them one by one, which obviously turned her on because she dragged her nails down my chest and situated herself over my cock and began sucking on it. Her teeth would ever so lightly brush against my skin as she did so and I couldn't help but nearly scream.

But when she climbed back up and I was just getting ready to take her, her father walked out and screamed at me. I hurriedly pulled my pants on as he called me sick, perverted, filthy, revolting, rapist, and many other different names while chasing me through their house. But then he called me a half-breed. As if his other insults hadn't reminded me of her, this one set me off. I crumbled to the floor in a pool of my own tears and just gave up. He pulled out a gun from his pants pocket, which he had picked up along the way while chasing me, I suppose and I closed my eyes.

I took a deep breath and prepared myself to die. I wondered where I would be in the next few seconds. Heaven or Hell? But then I felt arms around me. At first, I thought it might be an angel, and I hadn't even heard or felt the shot. When I opened my eyes I found that I had been right, but I was still alive. There was an angel beside me. It was Aleisa, holding me closer than ever before, though I might not have thought it possible at the time.

She was screaming back and forth with him the whole night while I sat in the room I had been assigned. It reminded me of my father and stepmother. I covered my entire body with blankets and clutched my head, trying not to go insane. I cried, yes, plenty, that night. In fact, I cried myself to sleep and when I awoke, I had arms around me. I opened my eyes and saw her. I smiled and went to kiss her, but then saw her tear stained face. I spoke her name and her eyes opened. She looked at me with heartbroken eyes and I looked at her with questioning ones.

Her father only allowed me two more days, and then I would have to leave and never come back. I was furious. I sprung from the bed and smashed everything I could get a hold of before falling to the floor in tears once more. I slammed my fists into the floorboards and screamed why more than a thousand times. Her arms were around me again though. Even in all my anger and ever with how dangerous I was, she still was there.

I clung to her as well and begged her to just run away with me. I couldn't leave her. I couldn't live without knowing she was okay, without her anyway. She forced back her tears and just told me to leave. I was broken, but I understood. Two more days would only bring us closer, and the closer we were the more it would hurt.

So I left. I walked to the door with her, hugged her tightly just like when she had first hugged me, and kissed her with what I hoped to be the most loving kiss she had and will ever receive. And then I walked away. My heart bursting from my chest, pained by the loneliness again, but I continued to walk away. I wish I hadn't, for when I was a good five acres away I turned back and saw the house in flames, and youkai running from it, one holding the burnt corpse of my first love.

I ran. Like I always did, I ran. There was nothing else I could do but run. And dammit, I don't remember when or where I stopped. I don't think I truly have stopped yet. I just keep getting farther and farther away from that spot. I've never gone back.


End file.
